"Where are Rose and his man?" Gerard questioned, as he came across the floor.
His voice rolled startlingly loud in the lofty, echoing room. Moving to reply, the mechanician let fall a tool and the crash repeated itself sharply from every stone arch and angle.
"Rose won't be out at the course till late; I guess our peaceful life ain't what he's used to, exactly. He 'phoned over last night to Dean, who's sleeping yet."
Gerard nodded, eyeing the Mercury racer with affectionate attention.
"All right, is she?" he asked.
Rupert straightened himself and proceeded to close the hood.
"I ain't supposing we'll need to be towed," he conceded sarcastically. "But I'll put in a rope, if you're worried bad, and take my copy of Motor Repairing at a Glance."
"Do," Gerard urged. "I'd like to have it found on you, Rupert. Start her up, then, if you're ready."
He crossed, with the last word, to the shelf where lay his racing mask and gauntlets. The melancholy drip from moist eaves and trees, the dreary half-light and heavy air had absolutely no depressing power upon his flawless nerves and vigor of life. By the open door he paused to look out, unconsciously clasping his hands behind his head with the leisurely grace and relaxation of one who found pleasure in mere movement.